


Remote Capture

by pocky_slash



Series: Team Shithead [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Declarations Of Love, Graduate School, M/M, Social Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8255140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: What does John do with all those pictures that never make it to Twitter?(AKA John's secret Instagram)





	

**Author's Note:**

> If this is your first day, you might want to check out [i saw the whole story unwind](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7927810/chapters/18117139) for the background about these two goobers. Or not--this should be fully comprehensible regardless.
> 
> Old timers: Thanks for the continued support, you guys are stars ♥ Sorry this is a little later than my usual posting time on Mondays--I've been traveling (to Jersey, actually, as well as into the city to see Hamilton, among other things--it was a weird weekend!) and my plans got a little messed up. BUT WE'RE HERE NOW, and that's what matters.

When they pull into the Starbucks parking lot, the drive-thru line is stretched all the way around the back of the strip mall. 

"Holy shit," John murmurs. The line of cars is nearly blocking access to the other shops in the plaza. Alex whistles quietly. "I've never seen it like this before."

"Well, we're normally here at like, five-thirty," Alex reminds him. It's nearly nine, now, rush hour for those with office jobs. By this time, Alex and John have usually been on campus for almost three hours. Even on days where John isn't working an early shift in the library, they settle into the lab by eight or so.

"I think it would be faster to go inside," John says. It's a calculated risk--the parking lot is far from full, but the few cars that are there are clustered around the Starbucks.

"Worth a shot," Alex agrees. "I'll run in. You want the usual?"

"Yeah." John fishes his phone out of his pocket and holds his thumb over the print reader. The home screen opens and he navigates over to his Starbucks app one-handed. "Put it all on this, I owe you still."

"Sure thing," Alex says.

"If it goes to sleep, the passcode is 2591."

Those numbers are pinging something in his brain. "Wait," he says, "is that...?"

"The last four digits of my phone number backwards."

"Very imaginative."

"Fuck off and get me coffee," John says, giving him a good shove.

"Yeah, yeah. Be right back."

There's a little bit of a line inside, but nothing like the drive-thru. Alex passes the time reading the headlines of the newspapers on display near the register and messing around on his own phone. When he finally makes it to the counter, he pulls out John's phone to pay, unlocking it and then periodically tapping the screen to keep it from going to sleep again before it's time to scan the app. He's only nominally paying attention to it, so he almost misses the unexpected notification. It pops up across the top of the app briefly, then rolls back up. John's not quite as vocal on Twitter as Alex is--it would really be hard to match Alex's Twitter volume--but he's on pretty frequently and has amassed quite a few followers. It's not surprising if he's getting notifications.

What _is_ surprising is that the notification isn't from Twitter--it's from Instagram.

He's taken so off guard that he doesn't fully absorb what it says, just that it's a comment from someone with the username "mattiemanners" and the start of what he assumes is John's username, "@not_s"-something. 

John has a secret Instagram. Weird.

He can't think on it too much longer--it's his turn to order. He asks the barista for two venti red-eyes, pays using John's app, and then steps to the side to contemplate the ethics of going through John's phone. There's nothing to contemplate, really. He's done this before--he went into John's texts without his permission and it started their first big fight. The takeaway from that argument was clear--privacy is important, trust is important, violating that is the fastest way to fuck up the most important relationship in Alex's life. He can't just...thumb through John's phone without his permission.

The barista calls his name and Alex shoves John's phone back into his pocket and takes their coffees out to the parking lot where John is waiting.

"Oh, I love you," John says happily once Alex has maneuvered the door open, making grabby hands towards the coffee.

"You paid," Alex reminds him, but accepts a lingering kiss over the center console. He settles his cup into the cupholder once John pulls back, then pulls out John's phone. The best way to handle this, the way that won't end with John either clamming up or freaking out, is to be subtle-but-clear. Subtle isn't usually Alex's forte--he's used to being up front and literal and earnest when it comes to John, but when it comes to John's art...well. Things are different. "Speaking of, you got bunch of notifications while I was waiting."

He hands the phone over to John while fishing for his seatbelt with the other hand. Alex watches John's expression out of the corner of his eye as he pulls down the notifications menus on his phone.

"Ah," is what he says eventually, slightly strained, his cheeks a little flushed. He doesn't say anything else, so Alex doesn't either, choosing instead to swallow a few mouthfuls of over-hot coffee and hiss in pain, then spin off into a tirade about one of the headlines he saw on the papers inside. It propels them all the way to the lab, and by the the time they're headed inside, the Instagram notifications are all but forgotten.

But not totally forgotten. Not by Alex. Because, well...now John knows he knows. And it's not like he said _forget you ever saw that, pretend this never happened._ When he first showed Alex his sketchbooks, he was very clear--Alex was not to touch them without his permission. And it's not like Alex is going through John's _phone_ , he's just going to...try his best to use context clues to put together what John's Instagram page must be. 

John's Twitter handle is "not_lawrence," a nod towards the frequent misspelling and mispronunciation of his name. The name that came up in the Instagram notification definitely started with "not," but the letter after the underscore was an "s," not an "l." So that's a dead end. The person leaving the comment, though, might be a better avenue. That name he remembers, so once John is in class and Alex is alone in the lab, he pulls that profile page up.

"mattiemanners" has a display name of "martha  " and her profile lists her as a literature student and recovering heterosexual. It's not hard to put the profile and the name together with Martha, one of John's best friends from boarding school. She's cute enough--British Indian, if Alex remembers correctly, with long, dark, wavy hair and big brown eyes. Based on her photos, she's really into smoothies, birds, and retro fashion. He clicks idly through her pictures and on the fifth one, finds a hit. It's a picture of a dreary looking cottage in the woods with an ancient, dilapidated shed off to the side and a broken down fence. _Weekend gettaway!_ the caption says. It has nearly fifty likes and below, at the top of the string of comments:

_**@not_snerual** mattie this is how horror movies start_

Right, his last name backwards. Jesus, for a brilliant scientist and artist, John really _isn’t_ very imaginative. 

He hovers over John's username and debates whether or not to click it for about half a second before he pulls the trigger.

John's user picture is the same one he uses on Twitter, a cropped profile shot that's mostly hair with the curve of one freckled cheekbone and part of his neck, off-center on the backdrop of a bookshelf. Alex is inordinately fond of that image and he's not sure if it's because he's so entranced by that stretch of John's neck or if he's so entranced by that stretch of John's neck because he's fond of the image. Either way, it makes him smile and wish that John wasn't in class.

Beyond the photo is the profile description-- _ **J** \- ghosts and greenery - parapsych grad student with forgotten artistic aspirations_ \--and numbers that make Alex raise his eyebrows. John has over fifteen hundred photos posted and eight hundred followers. He only follows one person, and while Alex can't exactly snoop into that one, he assumes it's Martha. 

It only takes him a few moments to absorb all that information, though. What he's really interested in is the sort of stuff that John is secretly posting to the internet, and that, honestly, is a little bit anticlimactic. At first glance, they're mostly nature and houses and other artistic shit. He clicks on the first one to read the caption. It's two of Washington's dogs lying in front of the hearth--he recognizes the scene from last night after having dinner with Washington and Mrs. Washington. It's beautiful, but, ultimately boring. He clicks through the next ones, scanning each photo and caption and skimming the comments, but they're mostly like that--trees, scenery, animals, the houses where they have cases, clouds, sunsets, interesting shadows. Some of them are photos of pages from John’s sketchbook, but the drawings themselves are even more of the same. His captions are generally brief, things like "outside my bedroom window, five am" and "tonight's work" and "growing behind the parking lot," with a smattering of appropriate hashtags.

Beautiful, but boring.

At least, until he clicks forward and is faced with his own...well, face.

Not his face, precisely. It's a black and white photo of Alex sitting crosslegged on a chair at the library. His laptop is open in front of him and there are books stacked on either side. His hair is in a messy bun with a few writing utensils stuck through it. He's frowning at whatever's on the screen. He looks...pretty good, he has to admit. The lighting washes out the usual bags under his eyes and something about the way the picture is framed makes all of his little imperfections and tendency towards mess look measured and deliberate. 

_love love love love love_ , it says. Alex abruptly understands why John always blushes and covers his face when reading Alex's emails. He can barely look at the photo--something in him, some creeping embarrassment, makes him avert his eyes. The comments are somehow easier to read, strangers saying, "awwww!" and leaving heart emojis. "jooooohn you're so cute he's so cute " is Martha's comment.

He stares at the screen for another moment, his eyes still sliding away from the actual picture, and then clicks back out to John's main profile page. He scrolls down, loading new photos, moving past more birds and trees and turtles and pencil sketches and clouds and houses until there's another one of him. He clicks it, expanding the photo to get a closer look. In this one, Alex is asleep. It's a selfie-ish--one of John's eyes and eyebrows is visible in the bottom corner, but the focus is on Alex, whose shoulder John is resting on. 

_trying not to make this one of Those Accounts where we are one of Those Couples, but i love this beautiful asshole so much it's kind of embarrassing_ , the caption for that one says. That one, too, has dozens of likes and a string of enthusiastic comments. 

This is...this is something. His face just keeps getting warmer and warmer. He doesn't hesitate to drown John in praise, to tell him he's smart and beautiful and perfect, to tell him how much Alex loves him. And John doesn't entirely hold back when it comes to his own affections--for someone who would rather set his hair on fire than willingly talk about his feelings, John never hesitates to tell Alex that he loves him, that he needs him. But most of their affection is communicated through less romantic means, especially in front of their friends and classmates and co-workers--they shove each other around and insult each other and needle and mock. Alex calls John “asshole” more often than “baby,” and John flips him off at least as frequently as he says “I love you.” Alex loves it--John’s his best friend, the person he’s most himself with. He can be a sarcastic asshole and he can say what’s on his mind and he doesn’t have to worry about trying to be a good person.

To see this out in there in the world, laid out for 800 strangers--it feels like something else altogether. This feels bare in a way that words shared between the two of them doesn't. This is John telling the world how much he loves Alex without Alex there to hear it. It's not that Alex has ever _doubted_ John's affection, but knowing these are things he says to strangers...well, he’ll never doubt it, now.

He wishes John was back from class. He's not sure what he wants to do with him right now, but it definitely starts with kissing him breathless.

Back on John's profile, Alex scrolls down and clicks on one more picture of himself. This one he recognizes--John took it at the Washingtons' place on his birthday. Alex is sitting on the floor, knees pulled up against his chest with one arm while the other hand holds a beer bottle. He's staring up at the camera and smirking. It's the picture John has on the lockscreen of his phone.

 _boyfriend #beingashithead #asusual,_ it says.

_**@mattiemanners** you looooove him tho_  
_**@not_snerual** @mattiemanners against my better judgement_  
_**@not_snerual** @mattiemanners (but yes, so much, i'm pathetic _ _)_

And that's gonna be the last one, it really is--Alex has actual progress he needs to make on this project before John gets back from class and Burr will be in any minute and the last thing Alex needs is him snooping around and he really should be at least slightly more chill about this, John's silent semi-consent or not--but the comment to Martha reminds Alex of something that happened a week or two before he realized he was in love with John.

He scrolls back, vaguely time-stamping photos via his memories until he sees another one of himself right in the middle of the time period he's looking for. He recognizes the inside of the cheap sushi place they frequent, the back corner table. The plates on the table are mostly empty and there's a half-finished Sapporo with a peeling label in the corner of the frame. Alex's hair is half up and he's leaning over his phone, which is flat on the table. The screen is illuminating his face just a little.

_he's so good to me and i'm terrified of hurting him but i couldn't stop feeling this way if i tried_

In the comments underneath is Martha, again.  
_**@mattiemanners** ???_  
_**@mattiemanners** are you ok?_  
_**_@not_snerual_** @mattiemanners i'm fine. I'm...great? idk. i think I'm in love?_  
_**_@not_snerual_** @mattiemanners i'm gonna email you_

Holy shit. Alex remembers that night, that dinner, the conversation they had beforehand about John's mental health and future and the way he'd been so sad. He even sort of remembers John taking that picture, though he didn't think about it at the time.

Holy shit.

He doesn't know what to do with this information, with any of it. He closes the browser tab, conscious of the time, and chews on his lower lip. It doesn't change anything, not really. He knew John was crazy about him. He knew he was crazy about John. Everyone they know knows they're crazy about each other, so seeing more evidence of it shouldn't be so shocking, but--well.

He tries to work. He jumps a little every time someone comes in, Burr and Lafayette and Washington, and then von Steuben looking for Washington. Not John, of course, and even though he's just in class, even though it's the same length as it always is, Alex somewhat melodramatically flops onto the couch at quarter-of, sure that the last fifteen minutes are going to take another lifetime.

He pulls out his phone. He's going to _explode_ if he can't say something, anything, sometime soon.

 _You know I love you, right?_ he types quickly, hitting send before he can think about it too hard. When John doesn't reply immediately--of course he doesn't, he's in class, Alex _knows_ this--he adds, _Because I do. So much. I don't know what I would do without you._ He hits send again, then, after a brief pause, adds, _I just want you to know that._

On the left hand side of the screen, the three flickering dots of an imminent response appear.

_I know baby_  
_of course I know_  
_is something wrong?_

_No,_ Alex responds quickly. _I just wasn't sure if I had said it yet today._

_and it couldn't wait until I got back from class in like ten minutes?_

_Nope!_ Alex says.

_you're such a shit. I'll be back in a few_

, Alex sends back.

Alex flops back on his back and picks up his tablet again. He still can't quite focus, but he feels settled at least, settled enough to moderate blog comments while waiting for John to return. Not the most productive thing he could be doing, but at least it's on his to-do list.

It's about five after when the door to the lab finally swings open again and John strolls into the lab, weighed down with his backpack, an armload of books, a camera, and his laptop. Alex starts gesturing him over to the worn sofa before he can even put any of it down.

"Jesus, give me a second," John mutters, piling all of his things haphazardly on his workstation and then placing the camera gingerly off to the side.

"Just come here," Alex says. His grabby hands are, admittedly, maybe slightly over the top, but John eventually relents. He strips off his hoodie, tosses it over the back of his chair, and makes his way over to the sofa. Alex grabs him as soon as he's within reach, dragging him down into an awkward, full-body hug.

"What the fuck is up with you?" John asks. They squirm and shift a little bit, knocking knees and elbows until they manage to slip into the familiar, comfortable sprawl they normally fall into when they share the lab sofa.

"Nothing's up," Alex says. "I'm just...glad to have you, you know?"

"Sure," John says. He raises one eyebrow skeptically, but he doesn't try to get up or pull away. At least, until Alex grabs his phone from where it's fallen on the floor and swipes on the front-facing camera. "Ugh, Alex, no."

"You're fucking adorable, I don't understand why you don't like having your picture taken," Alex says.

In response, John covers his face with his hand, middle-finger raised.

"Come on," Alex murmurs, nuzzling John's temple until he sighs so deeply the whole sofa nearly shakes.

"Fine," John mutters, and lowers his hand. He shifts back into the frame, scowling dubiously.

"You're such a shit," Alex says, "Come on. Smile."

"Nope."

"Joooohn."

"Noooope.”

"Jooooooohn," Alex whispers right into the crook of John's neck, which predictably does the trick. He twitches at the tickling sensation and laughs and swats at Alex, but, more importantly, keeps grinning helplessly long enough for Alex to snap a picture.

It's a cute picture. They both look a little dopey, but, in Alex's professional opinion, that just makes it more endearing. He opens Twitter before John can protest, and types, _I hardly know the value you've taught my heart to set upon you._ Sappy, sure, and likely to make John blush and roll his eyes and shake his head, but not untrue. He attaches the photo and tags John, just for maximum effect, then hits "tweet" and tucks the phone back against his side.

"I look like an idiot," John says, even before the Twitter app has fully loaded on his own phone, now clutched in one hand.

"You look adorable," Alex assures him. "You always look adorable."

"Biased."

"So are you!" Alex reminds him. "Half the time I look like I haven't slept or washed my hair in a week and that doesn't stop you from dropping 'beautiful' like it's hot."

John freezes halfway through an eyeroll. He doesn't say anything, but Alex can see him putting it all together in his mind--the half conversation about phone notifications this morning, the affection after class, the photo with the sappy caption. He flushes, but doesn't say anything further. In fact, he goes soft and quiet, whatever protest he was about to make dying on his lips. He tucks his head down between Alex's neck and shoulder and sighs. Alex can see just enough from this angle to know that he's smiling just a little.

"Whatever," he mutters. "So what are we working on?"

A classic Laurens deflection, but Alex will let him have it. "Blog comments and then skimming some of the abstracts from that conference over spring break. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," John agrees. Alex grabs his tablet off the floor and props it up so they can both see it as he scrolls through the comment moderation queue. He scrolls down, skimming the content of comments and laughing at John's asides and almost misses the Twitter notifications that pop up at the top of the screen.

 _@not_lawrence liked: I hardly know the value you've taught my heart..._  
_Mentioned by @not_lawrence: @a_ham love you too, shithead_ ♥️

He smiles into John's hair and keeps scrolling.

**Author's Note:**

> On Friday: Alex and John acquire a son/pet that's more trouble than it's worth.


End file.
